To Tread
by Anesther
Summary: When you walk the line of reality and illusion, life and death, you lose your mind, only to find it was always there. Everything going on is, simply, all in your own head and, that, is what causes you to believe and not that your sanity has slipped. Dark.
1. To Learn

**AN: Done for the sake of fun and, in part, to practice first POV which is, in my opinion, the epitome of awfulness. Hate reading first person (with **_**rare and few**_** exceptions), hate writing in first person unless it suits a need. So, who better to practice on than Bella Swan? Be warned: she was (originally) meant to be a blank slate for people to use to live the fantasy of being lusted after, but, she **_**did**_** wind up getting a personality. One I intensely dislike… so I will use the blank slate option and somewhat rewrite her but I will attempt to keep some of her qualities.**

**Yes, for those wondering: I KNOW I need to finish up other stories but my mind has been so forsakenly dry it's downright sad. I'm thinking that, maybe, if I work on a series that **_**bothers**_** me, with a character I honestly **_**cannot stand**_** to the point of smacking my head repeatedly, might just be what I need. Writers need to gain perspectives and, sometimes, it has to be roads less traveled. Yeah, even the ones that burn like coals.**

**Rating and Genres may alternate. That's undecided for now, same with the number of chapters. I just know the direction.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Twilight series.**

_To Learn_

I walk forward, apprehensive and slow, not wanting to trip and make a fool of myself on my first day in a new school, new city, new state. The population here is a frightening total of less than four hundred students on this campus. Everyone will know everything. My stomach ties itself into knots.

My father, Charlie Swan, has been very supportive in his own quiet manner and I'm thankful for him letting me come live here. Of course, one could say he would always welcome me, being my father and all, but we haven't seen in each other in so long. It was awkward at first, but I loved seeing him. He's always been a sweet man, despite the demeanor of aloofness he might sometimes exude.

The hallways echo with my footfalls. I notice the door leading to the office and I make my way in there. Most likely, everyone is in class; so, this means, once I am given my own schedule, I will disrupt a roomful of wary, curious eyes and I'll pretend it doesn't bother me while secretly desiring the floor to swallow me up.

I wait for the woman to print out my classes, looking about the room. It's so… drab. Grays and blues and whites and, outside, there's luscious greens and browns. It's such a contrast from my home. Absentmindedly, I tilt my head and stare out the window. It's beautiful in its own way—fresh, alive, breathing out a life that one might never guess existed; nonetheless, I miss the concrete monster which is Phoenix, Arizona: hot, dry, red and golden and harshly majestic. It's a bustling community, nestled atop the back of a dragon, whose grainy scales burn the soles of our feet but we ignore it because we love the heat.

A feeling of homesickness washes over me and I shove my hands into my pockets. When she finally returns, I give her a polite smile, trying to venture out of my shell, and turn around. I trip but manage to catch myself; so much for a smooth exit…

I look down at the paper, and see it is Biology that I have to go to. I missed lunch, which is fine. I ate at home already this morning and I don't normally eat much. I should but I never seem to have much appetite. Maybe I should've waited an extra day like my dad suggested… Instead, I wind up coming halfway through. I felt it would be better—coming in and looking around first when the day is almost over so I won't be here so long. I'm regretting my choice but it's too late to do anything but continue with my plan.

I open the door and attempt not to appear too much like a deer in the headlights. Every head whips up to see who has come in and I want to bark at them that, no, no one's come to save them from this hellhole which will mean going home early. I introduce myself quietly to the teacher and he tells me, in a slightly patronizing tone, to take any available seat.

I nod, turn, and scan for vacant chairs. There's one by this incredibly pale boy; good-looking, too. He reminds me of those models you would find on posters in the mall. The posters are all, of course, supremely dramatic, with half-lidded eyes and open, seductive mouths, also in positions that normal people wouldn't pose in when taking a picture. So, this image in my head just makes me chuckle to myself.

Walking to the chair, I silently inhale a large amount of air, then exhale. New school, new city, new state; new life… I should try to open up more, like I promised my mother, my father, myself. I sit in the chair, glance at the boy and smile shyly, "Hello."

And he… flinches?

Alright, not expecting that…

Clearing my throat, I look at the board and read the assignment, taking down the notes so I can do the homework. The boy's hand is clenched tightly atop the table, shaking a little. Other than that, his body is stiller than stone.

Perhaps now is not the best time to be friendly, but I decide to ask, "Are you okay?"

He becomes lifeless, eyes straight ahead. After a moment, he replies, softly, forcefully, "Just fine."

I turn back to my work, a little worried about this erratic behavior. I knew that being accepted here would be difficult, even though everyone knows my father, but I didn't expect to run into someone on my first day who would take an intense dislike of me in less than two minutes.

Thankfully, the bell rings and he is immediately out the door. I let breathe in and out to calm my nerves. The tension in his posture made me nervous.

"Hey, you're new."

I turn, a boy and girl next to each other, approaching me. I smile again. I think it looks friendlier. "Yeah, I am."

"Name's Mike." the boy introduces himself.

"I'm Angela," the girl says next, smiling with such ease that I envy her a little for it. She's nicer than I thought, however, when she goes out of her way to show me the way to my next class. Mike trails along, informing me of things too. They're both helpful, but I get the feeling Angela's aid is genuine and her disposition is sweet—I didn't need to hang out with her my whole life to notice. Mike is a little too helpful but I don't mind. He could just be like this with every new kid. Or every new girl; it'll pass.

While waiting for class to begin, I ask, "The guy sitting next to me. Who is he?"

"Oh, that's Edward Cullen." Angela tells me.

"Is he always like that?"

"No, actually. I've never seen him on edge like that before."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah, it was weird," adds Mike, "I thought you stabbed him with a pencil or something."

So this was atypical behavior on this boy's part. That's odd, since I gave him no cause to hate me. Unless he hates strawberry scented shampoo, there's no way my very presence caused this.

Mike pats my shoulder then squeezes; I try not to shift my posture. It's not that I'm unused to physical contact—I hug my mother all the time. I'm not so fond of when strangers do it, though. "Don't worry, he's just odd."

If that's odd, I'd hate to see the guy unstable.

OOO

Evening falls, a black blanket upon the world. I try not to think too much about Edward Cullen's hatred of me but it's a consuming thought. It was rude, uncalled for, and annoying. My father had asked how my short day went, and I told him it was fine, aside from that part.

He had shrugged, frowning a little, too. "He's a good kid though. Doesn't cause any trouble but that is different from his usual behavior."

"Has he always been here?"

"No," my dad replies, "He actually moved down here with his family of seven, including him."

"Seven?"

"Edward Cullen is adopted by the doctor, Carlisle Cullen, and his wife. They also adopted four other kids and they came here from Alaska."

"That's… nice."

He chuckles at my expression, "Little weird, huh?"

"Just a tad, yeah. It is nice though, taking in so many kids. Are their children all teenagers?"

"Yes. You only saw Edward though. They're all law-abiding but they don't do much aside from normal family activities. Hiking and all that,"

I'm about to ask how he knows so much then I remember this is Forks. Where people know almost every little move you make, every breath you take. I would bet that even secrets now belong to those who discovered yours; copyright of all who have ears to hear, eyes to see, and minds to accuse.

OOO

I decide to become associated with the greenery today, giants of deep auburn and viridian, solid valences that further block the sun. As if the constant cover of clouds don't do enough to hide that face I'm so familiar with. Sighing, I put my hands behind my back, listening to birdsong.

It reminds me of childhood, innocent and mysterious, all these living things. Dumbly, I try hopping around, even skipping a little, and a lightness floating into me. I'm alone, with only leaves that rustle murmurs and the chattering of wildlife. I actually manage to skip for a while before falling on my knees and I laugh aloud. I'm ridiculously clumsy, but I think I just need to try harder and then I laugh at that. Try harder at walking? Wow, I'm lame.

"Maybe I should have a doctor check what's wrong with me," I say to the forest. It replies with incessant nonsense and I feel myself grinning.

Rubbing the dirt off my pants, wet now from the soil, I continue along, a smile still on my face. Maybe living here won't be so bad. It's a change of pace, withal; I might be able to do it. People change every day; this is just another moment added to many on my persona gradually maturing.

I get deeper and further into shrubbery, scents of pine and fertile soil filling my nostrils and dead needles crunch beneath my feet. It occurs to me that I actually cannot remember where I came and try to return only to find myself by trees that don't look the same as the ones I passed by.

Panicking slightly, I recall my cell phone and, luckily, the bars are still full. However, I'll keep trying to find my way back. My dad doesn't need to worry about me just yet, since there's still plenty of daylight from what I can see and he's at work.

Continuing, I stop when I hear the sound of shallow breathing. Wondering if I imagined it, I wait to catch the noise again and I hear it, the quickness of life ebbing in the stillness of nature. What if it's someone hurt? My feet move on their own accord, trying to pinpoint the location of the sound.

I brush through a thick amount of green and I look for the injured person only to find a doe, wide-eyed, frightened, and dying staring bleakly up into my eyes, which are similar to hers. Hers are now dead. I am not yet.

Crimson is staining green blades and my eyes travel up a little to look at the one who caused life to spill. And it's him, pale and vicious, teeth red, eyes narrowed and blacker than sin. I learn in this moment two things.

I am going to die.

I learn, too, that some secrets are only for the dead to know.


	2. To Run

_To Run_

The thing that frightens me is the fact I'm standing here, at the edge of death, and my legs aren't responding at all. I try to move but I know, too, that I would never be able to get far.

This boy before me, I know, is not human. And even if he is, he doesn't seem like one to me. The blood, garish upon his face, mars and enhances perfection. It makes him, strangely, fascinating, but on the whole, it causes my body to tremor because it makes him so very, very ugly. I breathe in and the scent of copper sends a newfound wave of nausea through me. I try not to focus on the smell. So I stare at soulless eyes of two dead things.

I realize that he is leering at me and my heart jumps violently. I notice that it's just the scarlet on his jawline that makes it look as though he is grinning, a dark mouth twisted into a sneer. Even so, it makes me want to shut my eyes and never look at him again.

But I can't. I simply watch as he moves toward me, an eerie specter in the growing gloom, and takes a lock of my hair into his hand. I fight not to yell, not to pull away quickly because this is a predator I'm dealing with. Prey, however helpless, may survive if they just think.

"You're afraid."

I don't understand why his voice is smooth, why it doesn't sound inhuman. But it's so smooth because it's inhuman. There's no variety of tone, just one, long, drone of blood and honey and lucid longing. He inches closer and I suck in a sharp breath of air, determined to stay still, but the scent of him just makes my head spin because he smells of those things too.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He explains with a finger upon my cheek. He is solid ice on my skin. He's coming closer, lips a hairsbreadth from mine and due to the red, the effeminate face, I can't help but want to laugh at how ridiculous it seems that there's a gender switch. He's the seducer, the prostitute, the whore, the sinner, who goes around trying to find the one thing that can cure this insatiable appetite for life and never finding it…. I can never think clearly when I'm under pressure; and when I can't think, or I feel something is hopeless, I have this moronic urge to laugh because the only other thing I can do is cry. And I don't want to cry.

"Hold still." He says to me.

In that instant, my body reacts and I'm rushing through brush and spindly arms, for the forest is his domain and it will respond to him, trying to trip me and wrap sharp things around my waist and ankles. I hit the ground, the soft earth still stinging my cheek. I rush to my feet, trying to keep my footing steady and I continue into the dimming dusk, the life about me quiet, save for my footsteps and hurried breath.

I don't want to look back. I can't. I shouldn't! He's behind me, all glinting blades and scarlet ribbons. So I don't. I focus on the view ahead, wanting to reach the house. I'm suddenly five again, wanting nothing more than to hide in my father's arms and hear him tell me the darkness is intangible, it can't touch me and never will, while my mother sings a lullaby and murmurs how she and my father will never separate again, never leave me torn.

Of course those were only dreams I conjured in the darkness. And the darkness was always there, reminding me how only it can produce those dreams of complete wholeness.

Out of breath, heaving and close to collapsing, my legs give way and I'm sprawled on a bed of leaves that crack in protest. Dizzy, faint, I crawl and there's bitterness in my mouth and it takes me a second to realize I'm vomiting from exertion. I try to fight the shaking when I smell rust, salt, and dying flowers among my reeking bile.

The boy is there, hideous and lovely, walking to me. Did he even bother to run? The look on his face tells me that he didn't.

My back is being scraped by the tree I'm pressed against, trying to curl in upon myself and keep my body hidden from those wretched eyes.

I'm scared, so terribly scared…

"Hold still."

I can't move, can't breathe, and can't think.

"Look up, little one."

I'm five, wanting comfort, wanting melodies and symphonies to drown the silence that proclaims triumph.

"You don't have to worry."

How can I not worry? The voice is so unbelievably pure that I can't help but be revolted. It's so foul yet fair.

"Look at me."

My eyes dare to flicker. There's a soft contrast in the sunrays kissing the sky goodbye, faint incandescent rainbows that make promises. The boy, an angel that murders, presses his pale lips to mine and I taste nightshade ice.

"I promise I won't hurt you."

But that was a lie, another broken promise, because I'm feeling inscrutable pain, running into fire to which there seems to be no quenchable end.

OOO

I'm screaming a bloody soprano and thrashing, my arms flailing wildly as my legs curl awkwardly, a twisted ballet. I am a dying swan, sweetly singing of my murder, my death.

I'm falling from the sky, wings ripped and bleeding. The lake, invitingly cruel and resplendent, meets my frame and now I'm drowning but I'm still on fire.

I struggle to regain movement, trying to find air, breathe in bliss, only to go under and under, over and over again. I can't fight it anymore. I'm tired and I want to sleep.

But the world is growing in sound, becoming louder. I force my eyes closed and try to obliterate the noise from my ears. I want silence, where I won't have to hear lies and truths that become knives.

The world comes into sharp focus and I'm gasping, wanting so badly to cry because it's so abrupt. I wonder if this is why all babies come out screaming—leaving warm darkness and meeting cold light. I would be upset if I left all I knew and met something so terribly unfamiliar.

"Bella!" I hear above me. My father's face comes into view and I feel his arms around me, pulling me closer. "Oh, thank God! Bells, what were you doing so far from home?"

I can't breathe, I'm so relieved to be back! Forks isn't home, I don't think it ever will be. But my parents are home, despite the distance I've dealt with from my father, and his arms are comforting. I'm shaking, trying to remember how I got here. I recall nothing but pain and heat, lungs burning, inside the fire.

"Geez, Bella, you're really cold."

I look at my father's kind face. "I don't feel cold."

"Here, why don't we get you to bed?"

"All right," I say, complying easily. "Dad, how long was I gone?"

"Oh, Bells, you were gone an entire week! I couldn't find you! We had the whole town practically searching for you and we finally found you deep in the forest."

"Oh, no, Dad, don't tell me you told Mom." I say, knowing she would be frightened out of her mind.

"What else could I have done? I thought she deserved to know. Of course, I called her an hour ago and she said she would try to come here and check on you. I feel awful."

"Dad, it wasn't your fault. I shouldn't have wandered off so far."

"All that matters is you're safe. My little girl," he murmurs, pulling me in for another embrace.

I don't remember anything though. All I can remember is the boy, this horrible creature from hell, coming forward and destroying me.

I was being raped—this is the only description I can think of. There were tongues of fire touching me, irons clamping onto tender skin and bruising it till it's bluer than violets. My blood was boiling beneath my flesh, burning every fiber of my being, and I'm screaming sounds that I never thought would escape my lips. I want water to pour onto my body, into my insides and soothe the raging inferno but relief never came. Even saints couldn't be saved, so what made me so special?

All I knew was pain.

My father tucks me into bed and I curl into the blankets. He continues to put some more on me, trying to get me warm. He doesn't understand why I feel so icy but I can't feel anything. I wonder if the demon made me literally numb. My father tells me he'll take me to the doctor tomorrow and I nod. I'm tired, but insomnia decides to be a pain in the ass tonight. I decide to get up and move a little in the room.

Edward Cullen is a demon. That's all I know. Ghastly pale and wicked; his handsome features have forever been distorted in my mind. He's ugly and frightening, something I don't understand. But I do know him better than I've known anything. The blood on his face is still stark in my mind.

He'll forever be a vampire to me, something so dark and beautiful that it makes hatred burn in me.

I'm scared because he hurts me. But at the same time I'm not. I'm scared because he's something unreal but the reason I'm not is because, at least, I'll know what to expect. I'll know how to move around him, how to treat him. I'm not letting him get near me again, even if it kills me. I'm going to run from this thing, and I'll make sure he never catches me.


End file.
